


Sad Vikings

by LemonJamTart



Category: Alternative History - Fandom, I guess - Fandom, but not really - Fandom, history?
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 21:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20453819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonJamTart/pseuds/LemonJamTart
Summary: A man delivers some mail, and celebrates a holiday.





	Sad Vikings

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first post please be nice ;~; It’s meant to be hard to follow, as it is an emulation of William Faulkner’s style a la The Sound And The Fury.

_The wind chilled Erik’s very soul. It tore and bit and scratched at his flesh, threatening to overwhelm him completely. Only the warmth of his horse kept his legs, and therefore his mind, from losing feeling. He breathed a quick prayer to Tyr, drawing on the god for the courage to make it through this storm and to the next village over. He shouldn’t even have been caught in this mess, but seeing as the town’s usual courier had broken a leg only a week prior, and Erik was the only other man in town who owned a horse up to the task, the duty fell to him. Oh, he was honored, sure. Carrying the Jarls’ mail whither and thither. Wonderful job, really. But he was certainly not glad for the horrid conditions under which he had to travel; he honestly began to wonder if the courier had intentionally taken that fall. Either way, he had to figure out how he would survive this trip. Certainly he hadn’t been prepared. The village witch hadn’t said anything about inclement weather but then, she was a witch after all. Magic couldn’t be trusted. Perhaps she had meant for him to die, frozen out here. He decided that he would not be able to make it to the next town this night, and dismounted from his horse. Leading the poor, shivering beast along, he managed to find a spot on the ground where the snow was not so thick, and he began shoveling with his hands, only stopping to breathe and spit on them to prevent them from freezing over. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he had begun, but after what felt like an eternity he had dug a hole in the snow just big enough for himself and about half of his horse to fit into. His joints ached as frost coated his hands in cold snow._  
The cold settled peacefully over Erik’s home, and seeped into his joints. It was a time of celebration, the return of the most recent raiding party was nigh. Too old now to fight, and with his scarred shoulders preventing him doing only the most simple tasks, Erik could no longer participate in the raids himself. He knew, however, that his daughter, Aetta, was fighting bravely in his place. He dressed himself as best he could, grabbed his bag and his axe- which he had recently gotten refit and sharpened- and headed out to the garden to pick some flowers. Red orchids, those were her favorite, and her father’s before her. He stopped by the bakery on his way into town, and grabbed some bread and cinnamon-butter. He could hear trumpets heralding the arrival of the party, and he set to work. He found a lovely, grassy hill on the town outskirts and pulled a large cloth out his bag, which he set down under an old live oak tree. He straightened it out, making sure everything was just right, before he removed a small, wicker basket out of his bag which he had prepared earlier that day.  
_He led the reluctant animal into the hole, and began to shape some of the excavated snow into a sort of canopy, to keep more of the stuff from falling on them. Once he himself had entered the burrow, he dug his- thankfully still dry- tinderbox from his bag and began making a fire. It would be a long time before the storm was over, and he could only hope that both he and his horse would survive it. After a long, long time of stoking the fire, trying desperately to warm the horse, and attempting to retain some heat, the storm abated and the moon hung in the night sky. Night was not ideal, but… it was better to get out of the tundra while they still could. He stamped out the fire, led his horse out of the hole, and got mounted. He couldn’t push the poor thing, exhausted and cold as it was, but the message he was carrying was supposedly urgent, meant for the elder of the village to which he was headed. Urgent, as if it was almost certainly not a request for more grain or a formal declaration of tax increase. Frankly, this whole endeavour irritated him. Here he was, putting the lives of himself and his best horse on the line so that a rich, snot-nosed brat in an old man’s body could get richer. And what did he get out of the deal? A few iron pennies. Sure, ‘twas more than he was earning farming back home, but was nearly dying in a snowstorm worth that?_  
Here is what made the trouble of moving at his age worth it- he set it down, opening the lid and delighting in the scents within- strong goat cheese, salmon that had been smoked with wild berries and salt that he had purchased from the market a month prior, dried apples accompanied by a small jar of honey, and cooled tea. He set the orchids into a vase within the basket, and laid everything out onto the cloth. He sliced the bread, spreading the cheese and the butter over each slice. Erik and his husband would have lovely picnics like these when he would return from raids, and since he had passed several years after Aetta had been adopted, Erik continued the tradition with his daughter. The meals were simple, and they meant that the usual two meals a day would be smaller, but it was nice to sit and enjoy simple food with family every now and then. She would be twenty this next spring, nearly a completely grown woman. She would be leaving his home soon, he knew, to make a life for herself elsewhere. Such a bright, promising young lass- smart as a whip, with a wit to match Loki, and stronger by half than a bear. Raising her had been difficult, since she had been half-starved and skittish when they had found her and Erik had little fine motor control, but he was so, so proud of her. She would make a fine warrior for Odin come Ragnarok. She knew where to find him once she had disembarked the longship, and he would wait for as long as she needed. Today was particularly important, and he had told her as such before she left a little over a month ago.The trumpets were louder now, and from his distance to the harbor he could see the faint outline of the ship pulling into port. He sat, and he waited patiently for Aetta to arrive, but as the hours whiled away, his mind turned to thoughts of worry.  
_Lost in his thoughts as he was, Erik did not notice the near-silent patter of feet, the near-inaudible growling and grunting of a beast on the hunt. What he did notice was his horse rearing up and throwing him in fear. Quickly scrambling up to his feet, he drew his lumber axe from its clasps, and readied it in time to be face to face with a timber wolf. By Odin’s undergarments, these things were huge, and if the stories his mam used to tell him were true then they were never alone. He quickly scanned the area around him for more of the frightening monsters, but he only saw the one. He tightened his fists onto the edges of his fur cloak, extended his arms, and stood to his full height to make himself look bigger in an attempt to scare the thing off, but as the beast stood its ground and bared its fangs- gods, its fangs! Long enough to shear clean through his bones- it seemed as though this night would be when he met the Valkyries. As he considered this, another thought came to mind and his fear solidified into determination. The mutt would have to avoid getting chopped to bits first, and he knew that he wouldn’t just lie down and take it._  
He knew the raids were dangerous, had participated in them himself, but Aetta was far stronger than he had ever been. Surely she had not gone to meet the valkyries so soon, and left him alone to pass from grief? He waited for hours more, the sun creeping ever further down the horizon. The cheese had gotten greasy and the bread stale at this point. He began to despair, tried to get up to look for her, but his ruined shoulders failed to support the weight of his body as he attempted to prop himself up on his arms and he fell over. He sighed, and after a lengthy process managed to get standing, but he stopped himself from going down the hill when he heard the clanking of chainmail moving quickly towards him. It was a young man, couldn’t have been more than fourteen, and in his hands he held a dagger. Erik recognized the hilt; it had been given to Aetta by her father in his will. He felt the tears come to his eyes, and he tore his hair, and buried his axe into the tree. The boy simply stood, solemn, and wiped his eyes with a gloved hand. His daughter, his little Aetta, she was gone, and she had left him all alone.


End file.
